(_To_ OLIVIA) Well?
OLIVIA: All that time ... there may be something ... lying in the
woods. Hidden under a bush, with two feet just showing. Perhaps one
high heel catching the sunlight, with a bird perched on the end of it;
and the other--a stockinged foot, with blood ... that's dried into the
openwork stocking. And there's a man walking about somewhere, and
talking, like us; and he woke up this morning, and looked at the
weather. ... And he killed her.... (_Smiling, looking out of the
window_) The cat doesn't believe a word of it, anyhow. It's just
walking away.
MRS. BRAMSON: Well!
MRS. TERENCE: Ooh, Miss Grayne, you give me the creeps! I'm glad it is
morning, that's all I can say....
BELSIZE: I don't think the lady can quite describe _herself_ as
ordinary, after that little flight of fancy!
MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, that's nothing; she writes poetry. Jingle jingle--
BELSIZE: I can only hope she's wrong, or it'll mean a nice job of work
for us! ... Well, if anything funny happens, nip along to Shepperley
police station. Pity you're not on the 'phone.
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